


No Filter

by wendymarlowe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 15:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: “Wait. Back up.” Greg blinked a few times. “You two are finally together?”





	No Filter

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Без фильтра](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15995213) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



Greg heard him first. “This way, John!” in that distinctive baritone was hard to miss.

“I can follow the sound of their voices too, ta.” John and Sherlock rounded the corner of the popular club’s backstage area, John greeting Lestrade and his team with a little wave. “Greg. You promised him something interesting?”

Greg started to summarize the case so far, what little they knew, but Sherlock was already swanning off toward the bodies. The two were strung up with taxidermy wire and posed dramatically as a pair of nude ballet dancers, albeit with the female in the lower role and the male supposedly being the one tossed up in the air. The club owner said he didn’t recognize either victim. Greg had assumed those two aspects alone would render the case at least a six on Sherlock’s blatantly arbitrary scale, but Sherlock merely sniffed and returned to John.

“...not even worth the cab fare here,” he grumbled to his flatmate. “Stupidly obvious…”

John leaned up and whispered something in his ear. Sherlock’s eyes widened, then his expression changed entirely. Eventually John leaned back and smirked. “You were the one who insisted we drop everything and come,” he said more audibly. “Obvious or not, give Greg a reason to call us again next time.”

Sherlock sighed the sigh of a toddler who knew naptime was inevitable but wanted to register an objection anyway. “Useless,” he muttered.

“Whatever you’ve got,” Greg prompted. “Even if it’s just a starting point.”

Sherlock muttered something under his breath again. John fixed him with a serious look. And then - to Greg’s surprise - Sherlock deflated a bit.

“Fine,” Sherlock grumped. He waved Greg and John both forward and stalked back toward the bodies. “I’ve been told that the only chance of our evening containing fellatio is if I solve this _pathetically simple_ case for you without insulting anyone or embarrassing John so let’s take Anderson’s idiocy as a given, shall we? The club owner’s lying, the female victim is pregnant, and I expect you’ll find that the male victim is her boyfriend, or sugar daddy, or whatever you’d term someone a prostitute repeatedly has intercourse with despite the lack of money changing hands and his lamentable refusal to use condoms. Female victim doesn’t dance here but has in the past, most likely. The club owner doesn’t like his girls using his venue to meet financial patrons, hence the murder. She’s had some classical ballet training in the past - our murderer hasn’t, based on the abominable form of that _saute_. A dancer would know better. Can we leave yet? The sooner we get home, the sooner John can--”

“Sherlock!”

“Wait. Back up.” Greg blinked a few times. “You two are finally together?”

John shrugged.

“‘Bout time, mate!” Greg clapped him on the back, then pulled a very surprised Sherlock into a side-hug. “Bit of advice, though - telling everyone you’re rushing home for a blowjob is probably one of those things you should say in your inside voice though, yeah? The whole not pissing off John thing you mentioned a minute ago?”

“He’s not mad, though,” Sherlock countered. “See? He finds the concept just as arousing as I do.”

John did, in fact, have a bit of a noticeable erection going on, a fact which Greg tried very hard to pretend he hadn’t seen. “Not the way I’d choose to come out,” Greg said. “Just thought I’d mention.”

Sally abandoned all pretense of not eavesdropping and wandered closer to inject herself into the conversation. “This isn’t something new,” she declared. “Greg, did you really not know?”

“...No?”

She boggled at him. “I thought you were just covering for them so our team would win the office pool. It’s been, what, two weeks now?”

John broke into a shy smile, which was so completely out-of-character it threw Greg almost as much as the whole coming out thing had. “Somewhere around then, yeah,” he said softly. “Sherlock may have deduced some things about my sexuality that I hadn’t quite realized yet.”

Greg could imagine how that conversation went. _Christ._ “Let me guess: not gay, not gay, not gay, okay maybe a little bit gay? Did he say he could tell based on the length of your fingernails or the way you knotted your shoelaces a half-centimetre tigher than usual?”

“I merely pointed out that I have an unusually large penis,” Sherlock said. Still at a normal volume, which meant literally every officer within earshot stopped to eavesdrop. “John finds that a turn-on and he’s never previously gotten to indulge. Also that I--”

“Sherlock.” John’s rebuke this time was a bit sharper than before, and the effect on the detective was immediate. Sherlock shut his mouth with a click and looked down at the floor.

“My apologies,” he muttered.

“Oh my god,” Donovan breathed. “Greg, you’ll back me up that Sherlock just said he was sorry, right? Crap, I’ve got to text Dimmock and tell him he won. I don’t know who had this week for you two getting together--”

“Carter,” someone else yelled out.

“--but I know Dimmock had ‘within a day of those two idiots finally admitting they love each other’ for the other pool. I think the pot was up to five hundred pounds, now.” She caught John’s expression and rolled her eyes. “It’s been a thing since before you were on the scene; don’t go getting pissy about it.”

John cleared his throat meaningfully. “Greg?”

 _Shit._ “Started a few months after Sherlock started working with us regularly,” he admitted. “Anderson and Saunders bet each other on if and when you’d ever publicly apologize to anyone on a scene.”

“The more the fr… Sherlock pissed everyone off, the more people joined the pool,” Donovan added. 

John shook his head. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Speaking of fucking,” Sherlock said, “can we _please_ go home now? I’m about thirty seconds from stripping you naked right here, and Greg doesn’t win _that_ pool unless we hold off on fucking at a crime scene until next week.”

***

Dimmock won five hundred and twenty-seven pounds. Gina Carter, evidence room clerk, won nearly a thousand and free drinks for what would probably be the next few years. Sherlock offered to detail what, exactly, his and John’s “getting together” entailed, but Greg mentioned that fact to John and the offer was quickly withdrawn.

Greg called in sick for the next eight days, just in case. It saved him from being the one to walk in on John and Sherlock _in flagrante delicto._ Anderson claimed he’d never be able to look John in the eye again, but John and Sherlock didn’t seem particularly bothered. On the upside, the pot for “got caught shagging at the Yard” was enough to buy Greg a new, disinfectable cover for his office chair and some privacy curtains. 


End file.
